


if there's no normal after this (can we get normal after this?)

by paopuleaf



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-S10 - Ascension, and bonds. sappy shit like that, mourning or something like it, the baltimore crabs arent in this fic but theyre in this fic through their impact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paopuleaf/pseuds/paopuleaf
Summary: where did the crabs go?(or; snippets of some of the people left behind, from the perspective of a particularly odd radio.)
Relationships: Luis Acevedo/Tot Clark, Nagomi McDaniel & Montgomery Bullock & Sutton Dreamy, Tillman Henderson & The Baltimore Crabs
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	if there's no normal after this (can we get normal after this?)

**Author's Note:**

> im fucked up about ascension
> 
> title is from "get normal" by _the garages_

there is a radio, in the seattle garages locker room, in the chicago firefighters locker room, in - 

there is a radio, and it likes to talk about blaseball games, displaced in time, season eight nine ţ̵̞̗̇̈e̸̞͉̩̤͊n̸̲̔̓̽͝͝ -

there is a radio, and it speaks fondly of nagomi mcdaniel and sutton dreamy and so many residents of moco - 

there is a radio, and it crackles with old static and the faint chimes of bells - 

there is a radio, and it watches the stars -

there is a radio, and it _mourns_ \- 

there is a radio, and it only holds a grudge against all the right people - 

there is a radio, and it taps out federal laws and how to break them - 

there is a radio, and it smells faintly of smoke -

there is a radio, and it brags about their family, the _best_ kind of family, the one that's friends and home - 

there is a radio, and it lets you toss it around, letting everyone catch a glimpse of what's talking -

there is a radio, and it realizes - 

there is a radio, and it can't have your back, not fully not yet, but it offers - 

there is a radio, and it won’t (can’t) talk to you, but - 

there is a radio, and it will listen - 

there is a radio, and there are missing friends/family/partners, and - 

there is a radio.

-

mike remembers seeing the radio moments before he slipped back into the shadows, remembers hearing " _luis acevedo hits a single- eye- eye of light- eye of light future sight-_ " in a broken, crackling mix of voices. remembers hearing bells. remembers smelling smoke. 

when he steps into the locker room, empty and dark, the radio is sitting there, nearly more visible then _he_ is. " _mike townsend- mike townsend pitches- ball, 1-1- credit to the team-_ "

“what,” he begins, voice hoarse even to his own ears, “are _you_ doing here?” 

“ _townsend_ ,” it repeats. mike walks over and hefts himself up onto the table next to it, runs a hand along the top but doesn’t press any buttons. “ _mike townsend has retreated to the shadows-_ ”

“sure have.” 

“ _lost the game- lost the game-_ ”

“hah- feels like it, yeah.” 

“ _against the moist talkers- talkers- talk- talk_ ,” it insists, and mike laughs. sounds a little too close to a sob. “ _credit to the team._ ”

credit to the team. funny. “i just- jaylen’s back. heard the news. got flickered over to the peanuts, then the peanuts got free and you know the rest, right? she keeps coming back- she keeps coming back and this one wasn’t even _me,_ and somehow- somehow i still ended up _here._ ” he runs a hand through his hair, tug/tug/tugs, trying very hard to not start crying in front of the weird radio. “i wish it would choose, already, i just- i just want it to stop, y’know? either ‘m here or ‘m not, i don’t- what’s the point of false hope? i miss them, i missed them- i don’t- i want it to decide.”

the radio is silent, before it beeps something out, a series of dots and dashes that mike can’t decipher. “don’t- don’t know what you’re sayin’ now. do you know where your team is, radio? do you think they’re here?”

“ _won- won the finals, ascension imminent- claws up, crabitat!_ ”

“guess not. would’ve been nice, though.” 

“ _ball, one to two._ ”

mike wipes at his face (guess he didn’t manage to keep himself from crying, after all) and gives the radio an awkward little pat. “almost a strikeout. thanks for- listening. shadows’re lonely.” 

“ _see- see you next time-_ ”

“... see you next time.”

-

tillman stares at the radio in the corner and pointedly doesn’t think about the missing persons notice hanging on the opposite side of the locker room. “ _and brock forbes pitched- pitched a shutout this game, folks- thanks for coming- thanks- claws up!_ ” it chirps. narrating some nothing game tillman can’t remember. maybe it’s from one of the games where he was dead. the shoe thieves chatter amongst themselves and over the radio, but it doesn’t seem discouraged, as much as a radio can _seem discouraged._

it’s two minutes until leaving time, and people are already starting to shuffle out - tillman’s halfway through the door, ready to speed his way home and hit a million curbs on the way when someone speaks up behind him. 

“don't really wanna, like, leave it here alone," esme says, and the radio crackles to life again under her hand, feedbacking for a half second. 

“ _tillman henderson hits a triple- hits a tilly triple- tillman henderson- one score!_ ” 

the room turns to him as one, and he resolves to being the one to take home the stupid _haunted radio_ , snatching it up and shoving it into his bag. (he’s more careful with it then he’ll ever admit.) “finders keepers, losers, missing out on the perfect opportunity here,” he says, and the rest of the team scoffs/snickers/ignores and continues to pack up.

there’s nothing from the radio as he makes his way - not home. home is in maryland and behind the door of a colorful townhouse with too many keys made for it. he makes his way to the place he’s crashing at and sets it on the kitchen counter, pokes at one of the dials. “you think you’re hot shit just because you still do clawmentary, huh?”

“ _tillman henderson striiiiikes out looking,_ ” it says, and he scowls, poking at it again. “ _tillman henderson has been permitted to stay._ ”

  
  
“i’m permitting _you_ to stay, dipshit. being in my house is a fucking honor.”

“ _strike, zero to two._ ”

“fuck off.” 

tillman boots up the xbox, brings the radio over to say its stupid bullshit on the coffee table, lowers the volume of the tv so he can hear better. it’s repeating season eight day seventy, now. _sutton dreamy hits a single, tot fox hits a single, forrest best hits a solo home run, tillman henderson hits a two run home run-_

they didn’t win that game. it’s nice to hear, anyway - not that he’ll admit it.

( _better not be partying without me, fuckers, better not be dead up there, can’t die before i get over there and win your games for you-_ )

“ _claws up,_ ” the radio cheers, a cacophony of voices. tillman echoes it back. no one around to hear it besides the shitty little box of sound, anyway.

-

the radio doesn’t see tot clark, often. he’s usually in-and-out of the locker room, now, closely followed by malik, someone, anyone. today’s encounter is new, however short.

“i miss them,” he says. simple. the layers of worry/grief/tired are enough to convey the rest.

“ _ascension imminent- eye of light, future sight!_ ” the cheer is louder than usual, almost glitching out the low-quality speakers, but it makes tot huff a quiet laugh nonetheless.

he waves, and leaves. the radio continues without him.

-

nagomi doesn’t -

nagomi doesn’t know where her old teammates have gone. she was traded, once more, ascension just within reach. (she’s back on a beach, and her son is back - the moist talkers sent him to the fridays right away, for the time between seasons, and she couldn’t be more grateful-)

“do you wish we were there with them?” dreamy asks. there’s a radio between them, one that just showed up the day after the crabs went missing, echo’ing old stories. monty had claimed it immediately. “i do not know where they are, but…” 

“don’t know,” monty answers, honest as anything. leans back as their armor clanks. “we won three times, we earned it, but- who knows. maybe they’re nowhere. i couldn’t do that to the rest of moco, not willingly.”

“they didn’t do it willingly, either.” nagomi’s eyes are fixed on the far-off horizon. “we wouldn’t have. i hope they’re resting.”

crackling static drags her attention back to the radio. “ _claws up!_ ” an abrupt cutoff. dreamy shifts, puts her hands in the sand and nods.

“claws up. i hope they’re alright as well. do you know, little radio?”

no response. nagomi nods to it. “thank you anyway.” 

“ _nagomi mcdaniel hits a solo home run!_ ” tinny, bright. she allows herself a smile.

monty picks it up and puts it in their lap, in a pile of loose yarn. it stays there until the air is too cold to sit and watch vigil for their missing family any longer.

-

there is a radio, and there are the echoes of old chants -

there is a radio, and there are people to look after it -

there is a radio, and there is ascension and there are gods -

there is a radio, and there are people living on through it, within it - 

there is a radio, and there are people who are loved, and -

there is a radio.

**Author's Note:**

> the radio is up to interpretation but i'd like to think of it as echoes of the crabs and the clawmentators, mixed, in some sort of odd way. i don't know what's happened to the crabs or what's going to happen from here but i'm very fucking emotional about everything right now
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed!


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